


It's Not Monopoly

by wolfiefics



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Gaming, LARP, M/M, Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020, dingbats in love, game shop, roleplaying, sometimes two idiots need some help, warning dead plants ahead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-29
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-15 18:28:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29068821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfiefics/pseuds/wolfiefics
Summary: Bucky is the poor plant seller stuck with helping Steve find plants to make Clint and Nat’s game shop inviting. While the plants died, the effort is not wasted. Gaming of all sorts abound and Bucky steps into a world he’s never thought of before, including falling in love with Steve Rogers.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Natasha Romanov, James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers, Peggy Carter/Dottie Underwood
Comments: 15
Kudos: 47
Collections: Marvel Reverse Big Bang 2020





	It's Not Monopoly

**Author's Note:**

  * For [megs_bee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/megs_bee/gifts).



> I’m a gaming geek. Oddly, except console games like Playstation or Xbox, I’ve done just about everything else though. Megs_bee’s art just begged for some massive geek gaming to be had between our boys. Thanks to Megs and MangoAndPersimmon for the betas. All mistakes are mine.
> 
> LEEEEEEROOOOOOY JEEEEEENKIIIIIIIINNNNNS!

They called it “Chaotic Neutral”. Steve argued for something less…well, chaotic, but Clint was adamant. His characters were always chaotic neutral and therefore that was the business’ name. Nat just rolled her eyes and walked away when Steve tried to enlist her help in talking Clint out of it.

“It fits, Steve!” Clint exclaimed. “Technically, a character who is chaotic neutral isn’t good or evil. They have their own moral code and their freedom means more than some moral ambiguities like good and bad.”

Steve gave up. It was Clint’s money (or rather the bank’s). Steve was just there to help with tech setup and run the weekend roleplaying games. That was it. Well, that was supposed to be it.

Clint found the perfect building in a nice spot that was easy to get to for people walking from the nearby subway, bus and cab stop. Steve knew a guy who was good with wood working and, between the two of them, designed tables so that games like Warhammer and Axis and Allies could be played without the players being hunched over. The wall paint selected was inviting but not obnoxious.

Clint selected a pale lavender. Of course he did.

After conning a bunch of their friends with pizza and beer, the walls were painted, posters hung of various comic book heroes, movies, and artwork Clint and Nat picked up at various conventions for years.

Nat found an auction selling retail displays and wall hangings for smaller items. Soon there were areas for boxed games, miniatures, paints, snacks, books, and anything else a gaming person would need.

The previous month was spent trolling through catalogs for inventory. Clint didn’t want to sell comic books, tempting though it was to get first run of all the ones he collected. (There were a lot.) Board games were huge and there were a lot of companies making things more complicated than Monopoly. Clint also signed up for notifications on Kickstarter for people creating their own games.

“If I buy like five for the shop, it helps these guys and gives me a little kick to my inventory,” Clint explained when Nat asked why on Earth he had signed up for five copies of a Kickstarter game called “Thirsty Sword Lesbians”.

The shop had two sides that were separate rooms. The huge main room was for the table games, shop inventory, cashier desk with convenient glass cabinet for dice display. The other side was “the cave”. Steve didn’t like the cave as he felt claustrophobic in there and was the one who named it that.

The cave in the other room of the store was dimly lit, with nice, used couches, chairs, large screen TVs, a long table with plugs for computer gaming, and a LOT of consoles. These consisted of two Xbox, one of every PlayStation ever invented, three Wii, and even (God knows where Clint dug this up) an honest to goodness 1980s Atari system. The areas were spaced out for room so that players didn’t interfere with each other too much. Large earphones with extra-long cords (and convenient wet wipes for sanitary cleaning after use) were placed with each console as well.

Once it was all put together, the light up sign hung outside, the hours of operation painted on the door, and various promotional standups from the companies Clint bought from were strategically arranged, Chaotic Neutral looked like a gamer’s paradise.

Nat even nagged Clint into sponsoring a “Ladies Night”, stating unequivocally that “women and girls game too, you know". Clint had to concede that was correct. The grand opening was scheduled two weeks from the store’s final setup. All was done, even the security alarm. It was Brooklyn, after all.

Clint closed the shop with a proud expression as he punched in the security code into the alarm system and locked the front door with the shiny new key. Steve and Nat were standing next to each other, breath puffing in front of their faces in the cold November air.

“We need plants,” Nat said suddenly.

Clint turned to her with a look of horror.

“What?” laughed Steve. “Plants?”

Clint gave a hesitant smile. “You mean like those plastic plants that the malls have, right? Just something to green up the place?”

“Nope. Real ones. They clean the air or something. I’ve smelled some of these guys. We’re going to need more than Lysol or Febreze.” It was clear she was serious.

Clint and Steve looked at each other in confusion, stymied. “Do you have recommendations?” Steve asked.

Nat began walking in the direction of their favorite bar and grill, expression thoughtful. “Not really. There’s a plant nursery on my block, though. Steve, you should go look and see what they recommend.”

“Me?” squawked Steve.

Nat looked over her shoulder, giving him her patented “Black Widow” look perfected from playing a Russian assassin for a LARP. Nat preferred Live Action Role Playing. She said it gave her more “artistic freedom to express my characters”. Clint said she liked them because it gave her an excuse to shop for slinky, tight-fitting clothes.

Over beers, Irish nachos, potato skins and, for Clint and Steve, fat burgers dripping with cheese, the three argued over the necessity of plants. Nat ended the argument with, “If any of these men and boys entering your store have a chance in hell of meeting women who aren’t their sisters or mothers, get some damned plants to make it hospitable to the female kind.”

Clint grumbled something under his breath and Steve bit back a smile. “Okay, Nat,” he said before taking a fortifying swig of beer. “I’ll go to this plant place and ask what’s best for the store.”

Nat beamed at him. In hindsight, that should have been a tip-off.

* * *

Bucky Barnes was having a nice afternoon, for a blustery mid-November day. The store was getting in poinsettias, holly, and other winter greenery. He was putting up the festive finery for both Thanksgiving. He walked by the door of the hothouse and stopped when a figure wandering around caught his eye. He poked his head in and saw a gorgeous blond man staring at the plants in his hands, confused.

“Can I help you with something?” Bucky asked, stepping into the hothouse and placing a welcoming smile on his face.

The customer looked up, his expression helpless. “I need plants.”

“House plants?” Bucky approached. “From your terrified look at those ferns, I would guess something easy to take care of?”

The teasing relaxed the blond’s shoulders. “For a business,” the man said. He held both ferns out. “Are these good?”

“Well, ferns like moisture,” Bucky told him. “Lots of humidity. You have to keep them watered and the soil moist.”

The blond’s face fell and he turned to put the two small pots back in their tray. “They’re nice to look at,” the man commented.

It was time to get to brass tacks, Bucky decided. “Let’s start with the basics. First of all, what kind of lighting and atmosphere are these plants going to be living in?”

“Um.” The customer frowned. “My friend is starting up his small business, a game shop. His girlfriend wants plants, says they are welcoming and clean the air.”

Bucky swallowed a laugh and wondered what a shop that sold video games needed a plant or two for. Maybe it was an aesthetic thing. “Well, a lot of plants do clean the air of certain toxins found in offices, such as benzene which comes from printers. Others clean the air of things like airborne fecal matter and –”

“The last one. We’ll need a lot of those,” the blond said immediately.

Bucky blinked. “Um. What?”

“Trust me.”

Bucky gave the gorgeous man a closer look. “A store selling video games has to worry about huge deposits of fecal matter in the air?” he asked.

“No, this is a store where you can go and play RPGs, video games, board games, whatever,” the man said with some pride. “People will be there all day and into the night, playing in tournaments and stuff.”

“Right.” Bucky drawled out the word, perplexed, but motioned the man over to another section. He picked up a pot of a good size plant and handed it to his handsome customer. “This is English Ivy. It will help with air cleanliness. It spreads, because it’s an ivy so give it a good spot to spread its wings, so to speak. It needs bright light, though, so if you’ve got windows, put it next to them. This is the white leaf ivy, which will do better without as much light. But you gotta keep them humidified. Some pebbles in a platter under the pot will be fine.”

The man looked overwhelmed by the instructions.

“Still too complicated?” Bucky asked.

“Probably. I can’t keep a cactus alive. My friend, the owner, has a hard time keeping himself alive,” the blond confessed.

Bucky refrained from sighing. “Not to be rude, but if your friend is that, um, flaky, why is he running a business?”

“He took some classes on small business management. His sister is an accountant and offered to do his books and payroll. I got voluntold I’m doing IT,” the man said with a roll of his eyes. “Clint’s okay, he’ll be okay, he’s just an idiot sometimes.”

“All right then, something less complicated, nice to look at, inviting, and cleans the air.” Bucky ticked off the requirements on his fingers.

“Yeah.”

Bucky looked around, took two steps away and picked up another plant. “This is called Jade. It’s a succulent which needs very little watering. We recommend it for people working in businesses that have a lot of cubicles. It’s also called “The Money Plant” as it’s supposed to bring good fortune. I'd suggest your friend put it on a counter.”

He shoved the pot into the customer’s hand, trying not to notice that even they were attractive. Strong hands with a hint of callouses. This guy was a man who knew work, plus he was very nice to look at. Burying the surge of attraction he was feeling, Bucky wandered the aisles, taking a pot here and there. Sometimes the customer nodded and others he looked indecisive.

The man introduced himself as Steve, which Bucky noted in his brain that held fantasies. Steve wound up buying a Chinese evergreen, two Jades, a ZZ, three Parlor Palms, and a bamboo shaped into a star. Bucky tried to talk Steve out of the bamboo, pointing out that it needed regular watering. “Nat can handle it,” Steve said airily and Bucky gave in.

Once Steve loaded his car with the plants and gave Bucky a huge, thankful grin and a wave, the blond drove off. Bucky tried not to feel bereft of Steve’s absence.

Besides, Bucky reasoned to himself, odds were he and his friends would kill those plants and be back for more. Yeah. Steve would be back.

* * *

Nat eyed the greenery as if Steve gave her live grenades. “This is it?” she asked.

Steve refrained from flinching. “Those were about $75 worth of plants, Nat,” he protested. He listed their attributes and gave her an expectant look.

“Well, we’ll see.” She gave him a disappointed face and walked away.

Steve turned to Clint in confusion. “I don’t get it. I got what she wanted, right?”

“Man, you know nothing about women,” Clint told him.

“Duh. I’m gay.” Steve refrained from rolling his eyes.

“Then allow me to give you a hint on why you were getting the hairy-eyeball,” Clint elaborated. “Who sold you those plants?”

Steve frowned. “Guy named James. Brunet, knew tons about plants. Seemed skeptical we could keep these alive, especially the bamboo. By the way, keep it in water all the time,” he added.

Clint pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “And this ‘James’, what did he look like, other than brown hair and being a plant-enthusiast?”

“Clean cut, cleft in his chin, eyes that are kind of a stormy gray, a bit shorter than me but nicely built and…” Steve felt like he’d been sucker-punched. “Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.” Clint rolled his eyes. “You are dumb as a stump sometimes, Rogers, you know that?”

“I wasn’t expecting to be set up at a plant shop, Clint!” Steve protested. “Who does that?” Clint gave him a hard stare. Steve refused to relent. “It’s insane. The two of you are insane. Meet-cutes aren’t real and you both have been watching too many Lifetime movies if you think they do.”

“Dumb. As. A. Stump.” Clint reiterated before stomping away.

“Treat me like that,” Steve called after him, “and you’ll have to find someone else to tech support your store!”

The middle finger was Clint’s response.

* * *

Bucky handed Dottie her wine when he entered his friends’ apartment, and put he and Peggy’s imported ale in the fridge. With an oof, he plopped on the comfortable sofa, tilted his head back and closed his eyes.

“Long day?” asked Dottie in a tone that told Bucky immediately that she was planning something.

He cracked an eye open. “What have you done?” he asked .

Dottie gave him an innocent look that didn’t fooled him at all. “I don’t know what you mean,” she said .

“I’m calling bullshit, Ms. Underwood, if that is even your real name,” Bucky countered.

She patted him maternally on the cheek. “If I told you, I’d have to kill you.”

He rolled his eyes. “Pegs, your significant other is a Russian spy, sent to study our decadent American ways and report back to the Kremlin how best to destroy us.”

“I know!” came Peggy’s response from the kitchen. Dottie smirked at him.

“I get no respect,” he muttered.

“I’m sure you’ll survive,” Peggy told him, coming into the living room laden with a tray of various dips and chips.

There was a brief tussle for the spinach and artichoke, that Bucky won and made Dottie pout. She grabbed the horseradish instead. Peggy made a face. “I’m not kissing you after you eat that,” she warned her girlfriend. “Not even toothpaste covers that nastiness.”

Dottie blew her a kiss.

“Stop it,” groaned Bucky. “It’s just rubbing in that I’m miserable and alone, abandoned to the solace of my right hand when the nights are lonely and cold.”

The women made cooing ‘awwww poor you’ sounds and Bucky huffed.

“So, no interesting customers recently?” asked Dottie in that ‘butter won’t melt in her mouth’ tone again.

“Actually, yes.”

Dottie arched an inquiring eyebrow.

“I’m not asking a customer out on a date,” Bucky protested. “That’s unprofessional!”

The two women exchanged a meaningful glance. Bucky amended his statement. “Okay, meet-cutes like that only happen to you two. The rest of the normal world have to rely on social activities, like getting picked up at a bar.”

“You’ve known him longer,” Peggy said to Dottie. “Has he always been this dim?”

“Yes.” Dottie’s tone was long-suffering.

“She’s known me longer by like three minutes,” Bucky pointed out. “After she spilled her scalding hot coffee on me and you came running when my screams of agony alarmed everyone in Starbucks.”

“Tell us about this interesting customer,” invited Peggy, sitting next to Dottie on the small loveseat across from Bucky.

“Blond and eyes blue as the ocean. Clean-cut All-American beefcake,” Bucky recited. He paused as realization dawned. “You were trying to set me up, weren’t you?”

Both women assumed ‘who us?’ expressions.

“Bullshit on both of you,” Bucky muttered before crunching on a dip laden tortilla chip.

Peggy’s casualness made Bucky want to roll his eyes. She said, “I know where you can meet him in a ‘social setting’ that does not disturb your precious illusions of no romance in the workplace.”

Bucky hiked an eyebrow.

“Our LARP.”

Bucky blinked. “Your what?”

“Live Action Role Playing,” elaborated Dottie, setting her wine glass down on the coffee table between them. She gave him a critical once-over. “I think, Pegs, he’d make a great Cold War spy. Like James Bond, perhaps.”

“Do I get to wear a tux and drink martinis all night?” snarked Bucky.

“Tux, yes. Booze, no. We have teenagers in the game so that’s courting trouble,” Peggy told him. “We could find him some thrift store tux that would work.”

“And what am I supposed to do at this lerp?”

“LARP,” corrected Peggy. “It’s pretend, moron. Make-believe. Like you’re an actor on a big stage, with a lot of cast that you have to interact with to enact a plot.”

“Except you can be a vampire, werewolf, superhero or –” Dottie started but Bucky snorted in laughter, interrupting her.

“A Cold War vampire spy?” he chuckled.

“With that five o’clock shadow, no.” Peggy looked thoughtful. “Werewolf or maybe –”

“Big Foot?” chortled Bucky.

Peggy’s brown eyes lit with amber fire and her British accent became sharp. “That’s it, bucko,” she snapped. “You’re going next Saturday night with us to the game. You’ll dress in a tux, you’ll play a spy, or I’ll snap you like a twig in your precious greenhouse.”

Bucky thought about another snide remark but Dottie’s imperceptible shake of her head told him he’d pushed a button. “Okay, fine. I’ll play your LARP,” he agreed, emphasizing the word to show he got it right. “But I refuse to be some weird supernatural creature. Rocky Horror Picture Show has its place forever in Halloween, not near Thanksgiving.”

“Late night, double feature, picture shows are good all year round, bucko,” Peggy told him archly. “And next time, you’re Columbia.”

Bucky shrugged. “That’s okay. Been awhile since I’ve done drag.”

“That’s settled then,” Dottie declared, dipping a chip into her horseradish and popping it into her mouth.

“Barnes, James Barnes, Double O WTF,” intoned Bucky dramatically. Both women rolled their eyes.

* * *

Black Widow and Captain America were searching for their lost teammate, Hawkeye, when Cap saw him. The agent was new, clad in a black tux. hair slicked back in a debonair fashion that couldn’t tame the small bit of curl at the nape of his neck, and shoes shiny patent-leather. In one hand was a gun and in the other a martini glass with an olive poking out from its rim via a toothpick.

“Widow, who’s the new agent?” Cap asked. “Good guy or bad?”

The Black Widow, a defector from Soviet Russia, assassin, spy, and sometimes thief, turned her attention briefly to the newcomer. “Don’t know,” she said with a heavy accent. “Keep an eye on him until his allegiances are known. He could be the clue to finding Hawkeye.”

“Copy that,” Cap said and did just that.

He watched the suave way the new agent sipped his drink, how the tuxedoed James Bond wannabe flirted with men and women (no doubt for information), and noted that the man fraternized with the MI-6 agents. Not necessarily a bad thing, as MI-6 and S.H.I.E.L.D. were on the same side, but who was to say this newcomer wasn’t a double agent?

Widow was right. He bore watching but Hawkeye was their first priority. You didn’t leave a friend behind enemy lines.

They skulked about the premises, avoiding patrols and enemy agents. Cap clutched his shield. It was round and made of the rarest, toughest metal on the planet, called vibranium. Painted with a circular red and blue motif and a white star in the center, it was flashy and garish as was his uniform with the same color scheme. That was the point. Captain America was the distraction, while Black Widow took the enemy out in the shadows.

The two S.H.I.E.L.D. agents reached the detention area as shown on their map and crept down the long hallway, listening. At each door they passed, Widow would pause and hum a tune. The Imperial March from Star Wars answered three doors from the far end.

“I can’t believe he chose that as his answering response,” grumbled Cap, glancing behind them for anyone approaching.

“No one ever said Hawkeye was sane,” whispered back the Widow. “At least it’s not ‘S’Wonderful’.”

“There’s nothing wrong with Cole Porter,” defended Cap. “Now hurry. Pick the lock and let’s get out here.”

Widow went to work. She brought out her lock picks from God knew where in that skin tight suit and began her efforts to free their third man. Captain America kept watch, head swiveling right and left to see both ends of the jail’s corridor.

“Halt!” shouted a man’s voice.

Cap frowned and looked about. There was no one there.

“Stop! Guards! They are freeing the prisoner!” The voice echoed, making Cap realize it was an intercom system.

“Gotta be a security camera we missed,” hissed Widow. “Hold them off. This damned thing is trickier than it looks.”

“Roger that,” Cap agreed and straightened up, waiting for the guards to arrive.

What he got were three MI-6 agents, including Mr. Suave.

“We can’t let you release that prisoner, Captain,” said Agent Carter, gun pointed at his chest.

“He’s S.H.I.E.L.D.,” Cap told her. “And our teammate. If you think we’re leaving him behind to be experimented on by some fanatic former Nazis, you’ve got another think coming.”

Agent Underwood raised her pistol as well, a mad gleam in her eyes. “You heard what Agent Carter said,” she told him. “Give it up.”

Something clicked in his mind. “Widow, they aren’t MI-6. They’re Hydra.”

Widow muttered something under her breath that sounded peeved but she continued to pick the lock anyway.

“You’ve discovered our secret, Captain,” Underwood said with a drawl. “You’ve gone from an annoyance to a full-blown threat to our plans. I’m afraid all three of you will have to die.”

Widow slapped her hand on her head and stood up straight. “Is this damned thing really locked?” she demanded in exasperation. “Because he’s whining in there that he has to pee and the dang thing won’t budge.”

Cap put his hand on his head, breaking character. “Well, he did down that 72-ounce cola at dinner.”

Underwood and Carter’s hands went to their heads as well. “Idiot. He knows what was planned tonight!” huffed Dottie.

“He’s male,” Nat said archly. “Do any of them use the brains God gave them most of the time?”

There was an outraged ‘hey!’ from Steve, Clint in the locked room, and the new guy who didn’t have his hand on his head. The motion indicated that they were out of character and being their real-life selves.

Peggy noticed and admonished her friend. “Bucky, put your hand on your head.”

New Guy blinked at her in confusion but did as he was told. “Why?”

“To tell everyone that we are not in character,” explained Dottie.

“Right.” New Guy still looked confused.

Steve peered at the new guy a moment and then he smiled in recognition. “James from the plant store,” he exclaimed.

“Call me Bucky, please,” grimaced James, or rather Bucky. “Only my mother calls me James.”

“Introductions later,” Nat instructed. "Someone go get Nick to get Clint out of there.”

Dottie turned and strode off. “I’ll find him. Tell Clint to hold it.”

“I’m trying!” yelled Clint in frustration, muffled by the thick wood door.

“Your own damned fault,” Nat told him through the door. “You didn’t ask to go to the bathroom before you got locked up?”

“I didn’t have to go then!” protested Clint.

Everyone sighed, even Bucky.

“So, now what?” Bucky asked.

“We wait for the guy running the game to rescue ‘Hawkeye’ temporarily,” explained Steve. “Nick’s cool. He’s superintendent of the school, so as long as we don’t snoop or do damage, we can use the place to LARP.”

“Oh.” It was clear Bucky had no idea what was going on.

“So, what’s your character’s name?” Steve asked.

Peggy rolled her eyes as Bucky proudly proclaimed, “Barnes, James Barnes, Double O WTF.”

Nat broke into giggles. “I love it. Perfect. Double O WTF.”

“Don’t encourage him, Nat,” Peggy chided.

Steve was grinning. “I like it too. Has a certain ring to it. Irreverent yet classic.”

“Thanks!” Bucky gave off a sloppy salute and elbowed Peggy. “See? Some people like my jokes.”

“Only those mentally impaired.”

“This nice lady in the cat suit doesn’t seem mentally impaired,” protested Bucky.

“You haven’t seen who I date,” chirped Nat. Steve snorted a laugh at Clint again making an outraged ‘hey!’ through the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Dottie appeared with a disgruntled Nick Fury behind her, keys jangling in his hand. Steve always liked Nick. He was a tough guy raised in a tough black neighborhood in New York but didn’t let that deter his future. He was fiercely protective of the kids at his school as well as his friends.

“You guys would pick the door that automatically locks,” groused Nick.

“Why does it do that?” asked Steve.

“Panic room,” Nick said promptly then grinned. “No, really it’s the janitor’s closet. It locks so the little munchkins can’t get in and drink bleach.”

“Well, Clint’s certainly panicked, so it works in that capacity,” quipped Dottie.

Nick unlocked the door and Clint all but sprinted out, looking right and left frantically.

“That way,” pointed Nick and Clint did that awkward “I have to pee” run toward the restroom signs at the end of the hall.

“Is there another room we can use for a detention cell that doesn’t have key-only access?” asked Nat.

Nick pointed across the hall. “Kindergarten room,” he said. “And it has its own bathroom, in case Clint has another emergency.”

Everyone tried to stifle their giggles and failed. “Thanks, Nick,” Steve said with heartfelt sincerity. “You saved the day.”

“All cool here?” Nick eyed Bucky. “New guy?”

“He’s with us.” Peggy straightened Bucky’s collar. “He was curious and we nagged him to join us tonight.”

Nick swung a massive hand out for a shake. “Nice to meet you. Hope you have fun tonight and think about playing with us. We LARP twice a month. Have Pegs and Dots keep you informed on game dates. They aren’t regular since the building is used for school activities at night sometimes.”

Bucky nodded. Nick gave everyone a wave and a wink with his one good eye before sauntering off.

“He never took his hand off his head the whole time,” Bucky said with considerable awe.

“You didn’t either,” pointed out Nat. “You’re a natural.”

Bucky didn’t look like he thought that was a good thing. “So, what do we do now?”

“Clint gets done emptying his bladder. We put him in that room instead, and we can either start the scenario over again or pick up where we left off.” Peggy looked at everyone expectantly.

“We can pick it up where we left off,” Steve said. “We need to get this storyline wrapped up.”

Everyone nodded, except for Bucky, who obviously had no clue what he was doing.

He looked really good in that tux though.

* * *

The battle between good and evil was brief. Captain America, the symbol of hope, Black Widow, the assassin temptress, and Hawkeye, the archer extraordinaire, triumphed over the traitors they once trusted. Brought before Nicky Fury (Director Alexander Pierce, Head of S.H.I.E.L.D.) for interrogation, Agent Underwood bit down on a cyanide capsule, dying a quick death.

Agent Carter wasn’t as quick and her capsule was wrested from her mouth.

They detained Agent Double O WTF. There was no proof of his involvement in his allies’ misdeeds. In fact, he appeared to be as much of a dupe as S.H.I.E.L.D. Double O WTF was released with the notice that “we’re watching you”.

“So, good, bad, okay, let’s not do that again?” asked Nick as he helped the formerly deceased Agent Underwood to her feet.

“Excellent,” Nat decided, nudging Steve and tipping her head in Bucky’s direction. “Anything to get guys in outfits that show off their asses.”

Nick manfully ignored Nat’s matter-of-fact statement. “I’ve got a follow up module, if you guys are interested. I’ll shoot you the PDF tomorrow. Look at it, see what you think. You can keep these characters or create new ones. Whatever you like.” Nick waved as he added, “I’ve got to check on the others. Night!”

“Night!” they all chorused.

“So, Bucky,” Clint said in a casualness that fooled no one, “what did you think of the game?”

_Steve in that patriotic uniform is one of the seven deadly sins and I’ll be doing penance until I’m dead for the things I’m thinking to do to him because of it_ , thought Bucky. Instead, he replied, “Seems cool. Kind of a neat idea. Acting but not having to worry about actually acting, I guess you could say.”

“Well, I’m creating another character,” laughed Dottie. “Death by cyanide is not something you come back from.”

“We could make you a Hydra supersoldier,” suggested Steve. Bucky watched as the blond swung his ludicrous red, white and blue shield to a hook on his back, where it hung effortlessly. “Then you could potentially survive. You fooled us all.”

Bucky slanted a glance at his friend and saw that she was intrigued. “I’ll think about it,” was all she’d commit to.

Peggy smothered a yawn. “Sorry, everyone,” she said in her prim British tone. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, I’ve still got inventory to unload in the morning.” Clint brightened a moment. “You guys attending my grand opening?”

“Oh yeah!” Dottie exclaimed. “I can’t wait to see the place.”

“Very cool,” Nat assured her.

“The plants look great too.” Steve grinned at Bucky, whose heart hammered a little bit harder.

“You haven’t killed them yet?” Bucky teased.

“Well…” Clint started.

“You were right about the bamboo,” Steve confessed.

Bucky was flabbergasted. “You’ve had it a week! How did you kill a bamboo plant in a week?” He looked from Steve to Clint to Nat for an explanation on something he’d thought impossible. A couple weeks or three, sure, but less than 7 days?

Nat gave Clint a “you explain it” look.

“A, um, friend, potential customer you might say, decided to be helpful,” hedged Clint, blue eyes turning shifty.

“And stoned out of his mind,” added Nat peevishly.

Steve shook his head. “He decided the bamboo needed a pick me up.”

Bucky tried to imagine what a stoner gamer boy could possibly do to kill a bamboo plant and came up empty. “What did he do?”

“Poured vodka in the water. We didn't know until it was dead.”

Bucky gaped at Nat in horror. She nodded gravely.

“Oh dear,” said Peggy. “We’ve broken Agent Barnes. We’ll make sure he gets home safely.”

As Peggy and Dottie drug him away, Bucky finally found his voice. “Vodka!? What the hell?!”

* * *

Steve was depressed. True to form, all but one of the plants bought for Clint’s shop died ignominious deaths. The reasons varied, from lack of water, too much water and the vodka incident. Nat was insistent almost to the point of irrational that plants were required in the shop. Clint told Steve to go pick out some plastic ones at the local hobby store but Nat overheard that plan. She read both Clint and Steve the riot act, shoving money in Steve’s hand and sending him forth to the plant nursery once more.

That wasn’t the depressing part. That was reserved for the semi-horrified/semi-irritated look on Bucky Barnes’ face when Steve entered the nursery to buy more plants.

“Do I want to know what killed the rest?” Bucky asked with a hint of disgust. Steve managed to mumble something pathetic and Bucky sighed, rolled his eyes and said, “Come on.”

He led Steve to a small table about thigh high to Steve’s over six-foot build and about 3 feet long. The table was empty, not a plant in sight. “What’s this?” Steve was hesitant to ask.

“What is going next to the biggest window you have, preferably behind a counter,” Bucky told him.

“And what’s going on it?”

“Plants, Steve.”

“Well, yes,” hedged Steve. “But what kind?”

Fifteen minutes later, the trunk of Steve’s Toyota was full with the table and three boxes of various potted succulents. They were accompanied by, “Don’t water them until I call and tell you to, got it? Peggy and Dottie are insisting I go with them to the Grand Opening of Chaotic Neutral. I expect living plants when I get there.”

Steve nodded so hard he probably looked like a Funko doll before venturing a timid, “If you do come by the shop Saturday night, I’m hosting a game. You can sit in and see what it’s about?”

Bucky raised a skeptical eyebrow and Steve shifted from foot to foot.

“I mean, you seemed to enjoy the LARP the other night…” Steve trailed off, wishing he didn’t sound so desperate. Bucky was gorgeous, with that chestnut hair glinting a hint of dark chocolate richness and blue eyes almost a stormy gray. Even with a bit of dirt smudge on his cheek, Bucky was mouthwatering. Steve wished he had the nerve to ask Bucky out, but a past relationship had hurt his self-esteem. He was loathe to put himself out for further heart-break.

“I’ll think about it,” was all Bucky would commit to and Steve beat a hasty retreat before his lame infatuation became more obvious.

Clint looked in dismay at the table but Nat appeared satisfied with the green offerings. She set the table in front of the big windows on the non-electronic side of the shop and, at Steve’s begging insistence, put a sign up that said “Leave plants alone” on one corner of the little table. The Jade plant, last survivor of “plant homicide central” as Steve called the shop, remained in its corner by some of the game book displays.

The grand opening was set for the next weekend. Steve was running a one-shot Pathfinder campaign, with premade characters, that should only last two to three hours. Clint was setting up a small Magic: The Card Game tournament, run by an old friend named Phil Coulson. Nat had her own tournament of Pokémon in another spot. Thor Odinson, a long-time gamer friend, was eager to start a Warhammer campaign that night too.

Chaotic Neutral was looking to be, well, chaotic for its Grand Opening. The three friends crossed their fingers and hoped for success.

* * *

Bucky entered the game shop, stopped and rubbernecked like a tourist on Times Square. Peggy gave him a shove and Dottie laughed at him.

“Admit it, Barnes,” Dottie said with a smirk. “You thought this would be some loser place like an old 80s arcade.”

“I’m sure arcades were very chic in the 80s,” grinned Peggy.

Bucky ignored them with as much dignity that he possessed, feeling out of place a button-up checked shirt and jeans. Everywhere he looked, men and women, girls and boys, sported something geek: t-shirts that said “I’m a leaf on the wind” or “Han shot first”. These were accompanied by a variety of jeans, shorts, pajama pants and one girl had leggings with the Disney character Stitch all over them.

All sorts of activities were going on, he noted, as Peggy and Dottie pulled him out of the doorway and further into the shop. The door entered into the store, with tables surrounded by people gathered around little figurines, terrain objects like mountains, railroads, space ships. Mats beneath them had squares that seemed to denote where a piece could go. Others enthusiastically slapped what looked like playing cards in front of them while their opponents cheered or jeered.

Bucky looked around as casually as he could manage for Steve and his breath caught when the giant blond waved at Bucky and the girls, beckoning them over. You’re from Brooklyn, he admonished himself. You’ve seen the weirdest the world can provide just going to get a coffee before work.

“Hey, guys!” Steve was beaming like a lighthouse as the three of them approached. “Glad you made it. Any ideas what you want to try, Bucky?” Steve’s attention went to him immediately and Bucky tried not to feel elated and gratified by it.

“Well,” Bucky tried to say with some casualness, “you did mention Path-something, right? Let’s try that.”

“I plan on starting in a half an hour,” Steve told him. “Look through these.” Steve handed him some sheets with what appeared to be character information of some sort. “See what you want to play.” Steve turned his attention to Dottie and Peggy. “You playing too?”

Dottie was eyeing the darkened room on the other side of the store. “I plan on immersing myself in Halo,” she told Steve. “I already know you’re a sadistic GM.”

Steve didn’t bat an eye at what Bucky would have considered an insult if he knew what GM stood for. Peggy grinned and responded before Steve could ask. “Of course I am. Someone has to show Barnes the ropes. And he has to borrow some dice, anyway.” She held up a purple Crown Royal bag that clunked like there was a lot of stuff, presumably dice, inside it.

Steve eyed the bag in Peggy’s hand. “You know,” he said with a casualness that was badly faked, “Nat’s friend, Bobbi, made a lot of different size dice bags.” Steve pointed to a wall where brightly colored and different sized drawstring bags hung. “You might upgrade from that stereotypical dice bag.”

Peggy gave Steve the stink-eye.

Steve gave her an innocent smile and went in for what Bucky knew was the kill. “Bobbi found some 1950s style witch pin up fabric at Halloween and made some bags.”

It hit two buttons with Margaret Elizabeth Carter: vintage pin up style and Halloween. Peggy was the only person Bucky had ever seen that could rock the 1940s Victory Roll hair style. And he’d seen some attempts on many people, from his sisters to Tomasina the drag queen who lived on his floor.

“Steve, you know I only play rogues on your campaigns,” she called over her shoulder as she headed for the lure of vintage pin-up witches.

Steve dutifully pulled a sheet from the pile in Bucky’s hand and looked expectantly at Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“Know what kind of character you want to play?”

Bucky looked helplessly down at the papers in his hand and shuffled through them. It looked incomprehensible. It was in English, true, but the words together made no sense. Bucky glanced up at Steve and tried a worldly answer. “A good guy.”

“So, like Lawful Good or Lawful Neutral?” Steve smiled at him and Bucky’s brain frizzled for a couple of seconds.

Bucky had no idea what any of that meant. “Lawful Good.” That sounded safe.

Steve pulled the papers from Bucky’s hands, flipped through them until he found the one he wanted, and then handed it to Bucky. On the top, it read “Paladin”.

“Aren’t Paladins like Knights Templar or The Hospitallers during the Crusades?”

“Pretty much,” Steve admitted.

_Piece of cake_ , Bucky thought. _I can play the derring-do hero. I got this._

Steve sent him to the table they were going to play at, handed him a thick rule book, and told him to look up what the spells on his sheet did in combat. Bucky was flipping through the book, lost and confused, when Peggy joined him, sporting a new dice bag with Halloween witches a la Betty Page. She thunked in front of him six dice of varying shapes. He picked one up and rolled it around between his fingers.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“D8.”

Bucky gave Peggy a blank look.

She sighed. “It’s an eight-sided dice. We call them D for dice and the number of sides the dice in question has.” She began pulling out the dice one at a time. “D4, D6, D8, D10, D12, and these two are for percentile rolling.”

“You roll for percentile?”

Peggy nodded. “Usually the GM, Steve in this case, needs to make a decision. He’ll ask you ‘high or low’. You choose, he rolls, or you roll, and whatever comes up above or below 50% he then has something happen to you. Or not happen. Depending on the situation.”

“And, um, what is a GM?” Bucky sounded pathetic and he knew it but he was way out of his element here.

Peggy looked at him in surprise. “Oh, Bucky!” she exclaimed softly. “I didn’t realize you were so virginal!”

Bucky flushed.

She waved away his embarrassment. “No, no, I'm sorry. GM means Game Master. For things like Dungeons and Dragons, they’ll be called DM for Dungeon Master. GM is becoming more common since there are so many role-playing games that have nothing to do with dungeons.” She gave him a wary side-eye. “You really have never played these games before?”

Bucky shook his head miserably.

“What did you pick to play?” she asked, all business. He handed her his sheet. She saw the type of character and then grinned. “Oh, Barnes, I’ll tell you exactly how to play this and you will have the time of your life.”

The two of them bent their heads together and Peggy told him precisely what he needed to do.

* * *

About the beginning of the second hour, Steve was _seriously_ impressed with Bucky’s roleplaying. The brunet was still struggling with which dice to roll, which was understandable for a beginner, but his in character play was flawless.

It was irritating the hell out of Brock Rumlow, who was playing a Lawful Evil orc barbarian. Steve was inwardly chortling every time Brock’s character started a fight for his own gain and Bucky’s paladin sat down and waited for the fight to end. Twice Bucky’s paladin came to the rescue of those who Brock’s character was attempting to subjugate or kill.

It was really pissing Brock off. Especially when Bucky’s paladin kept rolling critical hits during their various confrontations. If Steve didn’t know better, he’d swear Peggy gave Bucky loaded dice.

Steve eagerly anticipated what Bucky…or rather Templar…would do next as Brock’s orc, Grund, took a swing at the hapless village official. The mayor who gave them a quest to hunt down a criminal now refused to pay the reward on a bounty that was to be alive. The outlaw had been alive, until Grund killed the him while the rest of the party was sleeping. He claimed the NPC was attempting an escape.

Steve was pleased that Bucky was picking up the lingo quickly too. It only took once or twice to explain what an anacronym meant and Bucky was on the same page. NPC, for example, meant 'non-player character'.

Sure enough, as Brock announced his character’s intention to cut off the head of the village mayor, Bucky chimed in with, “I attempt to block Grund’s strike.”

Brock grit his teeth, Bucky had a beatific smile on his face, and both men rolled their dice. Templar succeeded in blocking Grund’s assassination attempt. Steve waited with baited breath for what would happen next.

Brock was predictable and Steve was surprised the action Brock took hadn't happened a half hour ago.

“I turn and strike at the stupid paladin,” ground out Brock.

Steve stopped him before he rolled to hit. “Templar, what are you going to do?”

Before Bucky could answer, Peggy’s rogue and the other player, Daisy, with her witch, both piped up, “We attack Grund.”

Peggy added, “I pull my bow, take a five-foot step back, and fire one poisoned arrow using Precise Shot.”

Daisy grinned sadistically and put in her two-cents worth. “I cast my major hex, Ice Tomb, on Grund. He’s gone insane and can no longer be trusted as a party member.”

Steve inwardly cackled as arrow and spell hit Grund. The arrow struck first, by Steve’s private roll and announcement, followed by Grund becoming a small iceberg. Brock surged to his feet and threw his character sheet down in fury.

“The fuck, man?” he all but screamed.

Steve began ticking things off one finger at a time as he explained. “First, your character is Lawful Evil, not Chaotic Evil. I think Templar has shown amazing restraint considering your blatant murder of everything that your character thinks looked at him cross-eyed. Second, you were killing a lawful authority of a neutral village, whose request you purposefully ignored. Then you attempted to kill him for your inability to follow the request. Third, you’ve been caught twice by the rogue, of all people, stealing out of everyone’s bags because you’re a greedy fuckhead. Fourth, you seem to think Evil is the primary focus, which I assure you, if that had been the case, the paladin's god would have told him to cut your head off the moment you stepped into his threat range at the beginning of the campaign. And last, what did you think was going to happen, Brock? I mean, I know you’re an asshole in real life but you’re beginning to play them now too.”

Brock glared at him a moment and then relaxed with a knowing smirk. “I still give the best head you’ve ever had, Rogers, and you damned well know it.”

Something reckless overcame Steve. He’d been used and abused by Brock two years ago, something that had damaged his ego no small amount. Steve wanted to take the arrogant ass down a few pegs. “Actually, Bucky gives the best head of anyone in Brooklyn.” Steve gave a grin and a wink at Bucky, realizing even as he spoke he may cost himself his shot at Bucky.

To Steve’s relief, Bucky leaned back in his plastic chair, tapped the table with his right index finger twice and said, “If Steve’s lucky, it’ll happen again tonight too.”

Peggy, to her credit, barely blinked. Daisy gave a long, loud laugh. Brock shoved his dice in his ratty and faded Crown Royal bag.

Before he stormed off, Peggy told him smugly, “Crown Royal bags for dice is so 1970s, Rumlow. I hear Nat’s friend made some nice ones that are hanging over there.” She pointed at the dice bag display. “You might pick one up so you don’t look like some sad sack still living in his mother’s basement.”

Brock’s face went from angry red to an alarming shade of purple before he stalked off. People in the shop watched him go and, as Brock reached the exit, a roar of cheering, jeering and clapping erupted in the store. Clint’s voice could be heard crying out, “I don’t need your kind of business anyway, Rumlow!”

“And Templar succeeds with a smashing blow to break the Grundberg into little tiny bits,” Steve announced. “The mayor of the village thanks you for your help and offers you half payment for the quest. Do you accept?”

Bucky quietly stated, which made Steve realize then and there he was in love with James “Bucky” Barnes, “I tell the mayor that we waive the reward and beg his forgiveness for the transgressions of our former party member.”

Steve swallowed down the lump in his throat. “The mayor is confused but agrees. Game over.”

Daisy and Peggy immediately began to chatter at Bucky. Daisy gushed over his ‘flawless playing of a paladin” and Peggy exclaimed over Bucky’s adroit handling of the asshole known as Brock Rumlow.

For Steve’s part, all he could do was smile like some moonstruck sap as Bucky looked at Steve with a small twitch of his lips.

* * *

It was nearing 3 a.m. when the last gamer left, groggy and stumbling, from Chaotic Neutral. Bucky, after helping see out the asshole Rumlow, engaged in learning Pokémon and Magic the Gathering. He also soundly trounced Peggy, Dottie and Steve on Mario Kart’s Rainbow Road. Several times.

The group of friends helped Clint clean up after close. Trash was taken to the dumpster behind the building, shelves straightened, and picking up any stray bit of trash missed the initial round. Bucky, out prurient curiosity, checked the plants. The cacti and succulents looked okay on their table by a window. As he approached the Jade plant in the back corner of the store, the distinct odor of urine reached his nostrils.

It got stronger the closer to the plant he got.

“What. The. Fuck?” he shouted.

The remaining occupants of the store came to look. “Uh-oh,” Dottie said as she approached. “Surely, they wouldn’t have –”

“Someone,” Bucky raged, “probably several someones or someone more than once, used this plant as a urinal!”

“Should I water it to wash out the, uh, ammonia or whatever?” asked Clint hesitantly.

Bucky turned on Clint like a rampaging bear. “No!” He held his breath and looked the plant over. The leaves glistened a bit brighter than they should. Steve had been wiping down the cashier glass counter and Bucky snatched the paper towel roll from Steve’s hand. He dabbed at the plant’s leaves, coming up with a damp paper towel.

“Recently!” he growled. He picked the plant up. “I’ll refund the store. You can’t let your customers PEE on the plants, Clint.”

Clint gave a guilty grin. “Consider it payment for the abject humiliation you gave Rumlow tonight. That moron’s had it coming for years.”

Bucky exited the store with everyone else, Clint locking up after setting the alarm. Arms wrapped around the urine smelling plant, he snuck a look at Steve. Steve had this goofy grin on his face and that expression was directed straight at Bucky.

Bucky tried not to let the pee smell detract from the thrill of that look.

Clint and Nat waved good-bye before setting off toward the nearest subway station. Dottie and Peggy gave Bucky a meaningful look and Dottie held out her hands.

“We’ll take the plant, Barnes,” she ordered.

Bucky was torn between the women giving him the option to make his move on Steve or saving the plant from probable doom. Steve, like a knight in shining Under Armour, piped up, “I work from home most of the time. It’ll be nice to have a plant around. I’ll take it under my cautious wing, if Bucky gives me pointers.”

“Happy to!” Bucky tried not to wince at how desperate he sounded. He then decided to try for seductive. “My comment to Rumlow wasn’t just a dig into his ego. It was an honest suggestion.”

Dottie snorted a laugh and Peggy gave a delighted shriek. Steve flushed a little in the street lit night but smiled all the same. “Good. We’re on the same page. Night, Dot, Pegs.”

The women broke into giggles, looking over their shoulders at Steve and Bucky as they walked across the empty street. They lived fairly close so Bucky wasn’t too concerned about their safety. Neither woman was a helpless damsel and the fool who tried anything with them deserved what he got.

“So, I live this way,” Steve said, motioning over his shoulder.

“Lead on, McDuff,” quipped Bucky, excitement creating butterflies in his stomach.

As the two men walked, Bucky tried to move the plant somewhere in his grip where the rancid scent didn’t overpower either of them. Steve noticed and gave a chuckle.

“What?” Bucky asked.

“I’m wondering how on Earth you’re going to get urine out of that plant,” Steve punned, emphasizing the word ‘Earth’.

Bucky groaned. “Earth. Right. You’re a laugh riot, Rogers.”

“I try,” Steve responded with false modesty.

“Repot it. You wouldn’t happen to have any potting soil, would you?”

“No,” Steve said thoughtfully, “but I know who will.”

Bucky gave Steve an inquiring look.

“My neighbor, Sam Wilson. He’s got all sorts of herbs and tomato plants on his balcony. He probably will.”

“If he balks at helping us at three in the morning, I’ll shove this pee covered plant under his nose.”

Steve laughed. “I like the way you think, Bucky. He will _definitely_ complain about being woken up just for dirt.”

“It’s not dirt, Steve,” Bucky said loftily. “It’s life-giving nourishment for one of the many green wonders of the world.”

“Use that sentence,” Steve advised. “It might keep him from killing us.”

Six blocks, six long city blocks with a heavy plant smelling of someone’s formerly full bowels, Steve motioned to an impressive brownstone. It was nice. Much nicer than anything Bucky ever lived in, let alone lived in now.

“What do you do for a living?” Bucky asked in a hushed tone, like he was entering a church, when Steve punched in the key code to let them in the front door.

“I design and moderate online gaming systems,” Steve confessed.

That made complete sense to Bucky but he was stopped from commenting by the view of the interior of the brownstone apartments. It looked like it would have in the early 1900s. The wall paint was a light sky blue, with gleaming white trim even in the semi-darkness of former gas lights now electrified lining the foyer. The only modern thing present was three inset mail boxes opened with a key.

The floor was wooden parquet in a herringbone pattern, waxed to a shine. The stairway leading up to what was former chamber spaces modified into apartments looked like a grand staircase from something a Rockefeller would have had.

“This is…” Bucky was lost for words.

“Vintage?” suggested Steve.

“Fantabulous,” breathed Bucky, taking it all in while doing a slow spin in place.

“There’s only three of us living here. The lady who owns the place, it’s been in her family for generations. Each room has a small kitchenette but we can use the main kitchen in the back,” Steve gave a wave into the dark recesses of the back of the building, “when we want to impress someone. Same with the bathrooms. Small, serviceable, but if we want to luxuriate, there’s several large bathrooms with big, clawfoot tubs and one has a Jacuzzi she said her father put in before he died.”

Bucky gave Steve a startled look. “Her father? A Jaccuzi? How old is your landlady?”

“Sharon is our age. She lives here too. She said he put it in for his arthritis.” Steve’s tone suggested he was copying this Sharon’s voice in explanation, which was sarcastic.

“So, you, this Sam guy, and the lady who owns the place are the only ones who live here?”

“Yep.” Steve popped the ‘p’.

“Interesting.”

Steve’s smile turned a bit wicked. “Walls are like concrete in terms of sound-proofing too.”

Bucky answered with a shark’s grin. “Even better.” The plant’s odor got to him and he grimaced. “Plant first. Nookie later.”

Steve was suddenly all business. “Right,” he nodded.

Up the grand stairs they went and Steve turned right when they reached the top. “That’s my door,” he said as they passed a heavy-looking oak door. Bucky was fairly certain you could take a large couch through it with little issue. What brownstone was this huge? In Brooklyn?

Further down the hall, Steve stopped at another door and hammered on it at the same time shouting, “Up and at ‘em, Wilson! Reveille calls, soldier! Oh wait, you were Air Force. That’s not really being in the military, playing with planes.”

The door jerked open about thirty seconds later to reveal an irritated, very good-looking man half a hitch taller than Bucky and wearing a ratty “The Air Force Flies Better Than the Army” shirt. Bucky wondered if Steve knew anybody ugly.

“The hell, Rogers?” growled the man Bucky presumed was Sam Wilson.

“Bucky, Sam. Sam, Bucky,” Steve introduced.

“And?” demanded Sam, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Emergency.”

Sam perked up. “One of you hurt? A mugging? Let me get my –”

Steve grabbed the plant from Bucky’s arms before he could protest and shoved it under Sam’s nose. Sam recoiled instantly.

“The hell, man!”

“We need dirt to repot this plant that one of Clint’s customers, um, watered,” Steve explained.

Sam scowled at Steve, then the plant, and turned the expression on Bucky. Bucky attempted contrite pleading for his own look. “Are you serious?”

“Isn’t the smell enough proof?” Steve asked in amusement.

“Gods,” muttered Sam, stepping back and waving them in. “You owe me big, Rogers, so help me God.”

“Consider it penance for being a Fly Boy living in the same house with Army.”

“ _Former_ Army,” Sam contradicted. “Airforce Rejected Me Yesterday.”

Bucky snorted at the acronym. “Am I the only former Marine here?” Both Steve and Sam looked at him in horror. “You know. My Ass Rides In Navy Equipment?”

Sam gave a shout of laughter. “Potting soil and all else is over there by the balcony in the baskets. I’ll put on some tea. Decaf,” he stressed and wandered into his kitchenette.

Bucky disposed of the ruined soil after delicately pulling the plant out of it’s disgusting nest. Sam had a handy trash bag at the ready along with a pot of what smelled like a nice Jasmine tea. Bucky repotted the Jade before using semi-warm water to wipe each leaf off in an attempt to remove any acid or ammonia from the urine.

“Your boy’s got a way with plants,” Sam approved to Steve.

“I should. It’s my job,” Bucky responded. “Honest truth, Sam. Can Steve keep this thing alive or am I going to have to take it home to save it’s life?”

Steve took a sip of tea with an innocent expression on his face. Sam looked doubtful.

“If you’re sticking around, it’s got a chance,” Sam finally decided. “If not, save it now from an ignominious death.”

“That’s a big word for nearly four in the morning, Sam,” Steve observed.

“Shut up, finish your tea, get out of here and get laid, Rogers,” Sam shot back.

“We plan to,” Bucky and Steve said at the same time.

Fifteen minutes later that’s exactly what they did.

Well, it took about forty-five minutes for the ‘get laid’ part and Bucky wasn’t complaining.

* * *

ONE YEAR LATER

Captain America blocked the bullets that were a constant barrage at himself and his partner. Agents Carter and Underwood were nowhere in sight, but Cap wasn’t worried. The two agents were as helpless as rabid wolverines, especially now that both had a knock-off of his supersoldier serum.

“Hurry up, Winter,” he ground out, trying not to buckle under the intense bombardment.

“In a moment,” came the heavy Russian accent of his partner. “Perfection takes time.”

“We don’t have time,” snapped Cap, going to a knee and holding the shield to make sure both of them were covered.

There was distinct Russian mutterings of swear words that the upstanding Captain America manfully ignored and then an “Ara!” The squeak behind him told Cap his partner finally got the door open. “In, in!” commanded the Winter Soldier, his metal arm with a PSM pistol in hand, began to kick out bullets. Their attackers scattered like roaches in the light.

When the Winter Soldier shot at you, he didn’t miss. His stats were that good.

Cap didn’t bother to look over his shoulder and dove into the security room. From there, they should be able to disable all security and check point areas in the building. Director Pierce and the other S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were waiting to enter and take down the base.

Cap was expecting a silent room, filled with databanks and screens showing various areas of the base. What he got was an explosion of sound, people screaming, “HAPPY ANNIVERSARY!”

Steve, aka Captain America, dropped his prop shield and stared at the room’s occupants. “What?”

Dottie and Peggy, in their ‘kevlar’ jumpsuits that if Steve was heterosexual would have made his mouth water, stepped forward with huge smiles. They and the rest of the room had one hand on their heads.

“Happy anniversary, Steve!” Peggy repeated.

“Who’s anniversary?” Steve was still confused. “I don’t understand.”

“If I didn’t know he was so dim before, I’d be insulted. Hand on your head, Rogers." The Winter Soldier, hand on his head like everyone else, was now Bucky. “It’s _our_ anniversary, punk.”

Steve thought. “You mean from when I came into your plant shop looking for something Clint wouldn’t kill?”

Bucky glowered a moment at a guilty-looking Clint. “That was a failed experiment we will not mention,” he warned.

Bucky had finally forbidden Nat or Clint stocking the store with anything living, except for the cat Clint found near the dumpster eating old pizza crusts and adopted as the ‘store cat’.

“Aw, Barnes, Pizza Cat didn’t mean to chew on that…whatever it was.”

“It was a Baby Doll Ti plant,” began Bucky heatedly but Steve stopped the rant’s beginnings by turning what he hoped was a puppy-eyed expression on the love of his life.

“You set up a party for me for that?” he asked.

Bucky’s expression softened. “Well, sort of,” he hedged.

“Sort of?” Steve was back to being confused.

He wasn’t confused for long.

Bucky Barnes, LARP player of the most feared assassin of the 20th Century, brainwashed until he didn’t remember his best friend from childhood, Captain America, dropped to one knee. Bucky pulled out of his utility pouch a box that was clearly marked with the stamp of one of the most expensive pawn dealers in Brooklyn.

“A pawn broker, Barnes?” moaned Dottie before Peggy elbowed her. Well, Steve assumed Peggy elbowed her from the yelp.

“I’m not making money hand over fist like you,” Bucky confessed, “but neither of us are overly concerned with money, despite that fancy-schmancy place you live in for dirt cheap.”

Steve was certain he looked like a fish gaping on a river bank. Bucky was looking up at him, those stormy eyes dulled to a bluer shine of hopefulness.

“Steven Grant Rogers, Captain America, love of my life, will you marry me?”

Steve clamped his mouth shut and gave a terse nod, afraid that his tense body from the shock of being proposed to would shatter if he made a more emphatic gesture.

Bucky squinted at him suspiciously. “You don’t look thrilled,” he stated.

Steve swallowed and managed a whispered, “I was going to propose tomorrow. I don’t have the ring with me. I did, though,” he confessed, “forget this was our first meeting anniversary.”

“Please tell me you didn’t buy your ring at a pawn broker?” chuckled Dottie.

Steve shook his head. “No, but it doesn’t matter where it comes from, does it, Buck? As long it shines as bright as we do together.”

There were ‘awwwws’ and a couple of teasing gagging sounds but Bucky surged to his feet and Steve was happily receiving the second-best kiss of his life. The first had been the first kiss with Bucky.

It might take third place to the kiss they shared at their wedding.

THE END


End file.
